


300 - Dancing Lessons

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 22:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the "Teach me how to slow dance on our kitchen floor at 2 am and after we can sit on the counter and eat cookie dough and fall a little more in love" prompt sent to me





	300 - Dancing Lessons

Everyone else had gone to bed long ago. Maybe it was more honest to say they'd passed out, but both you and Van were kind enough to overlook that. He was sat on the kitchen floor, barefoot with legs outstretched. You were perched on the counter, back to the wall looking down at him. 

"Does Mary ever get pissed you haven't written a song about her?" you asked, thinking of all the Catfish songs inspired by the infamous Bernard McCann. Bernie. BMackAttack. Everyone's surrogate father. 

Van smirked, then shrugged. "Not seriously… Ain't like me and Dad talk about the songs. He pretends he don't listen for the lyrics," 

"But he knows," 

"Yeah. He knows," Van confirmed, smiling that smile reserved for when he spoke of his family. 

The night was almost over but the daytime wasn't ready to break. The kitchen didn't have windows anyway; even when the sun peaked her head over the horizon, you and Van wouldn't notice. The room had that strange, honey-thick atmosphere. The air was heavy but your limbs felt light. You were buzzing to do something but too tired to try. Van thought he could just melt back into the cupboard he was leaning on. 

"Tell me one of their stories?"

"One of Mum and Dad?" Van asked, to which you nodded. "Everyone wants to hear Mary and Bernie McCann's story… Fuckin' mind you, they were always on one for their best stories. No grand gestures of love when they're sober," 

"Just small gestures," you said, remembering all the small things you watched growing up around the McCanns. Putting the kettle for tea when Mary was upset. Laying socks out on the heater for Bernie before he headed off to work. 

"Yeah… Alright… There was this one time…" Van launched into a love story and he told it like he was born to. He kinda was, if you thought about it. 

By the time he finished, both you and Van were in hysterics. You had to plant your hands firmly on the kitchen counter to not fall off. Only Van made you laugh that hard. 

"God, I fuckin' love them," you mused. 

Van nodded. "Yeah. Me too. I mean… I guess I know how to slow dance proper now, 'cause of them and that one, that story an' all," 

"Yeah… A very _useful_ skill," you teased. 

"Hey! I'll have you know I've wooed so many women with my slow dancing!" 

The pitch of Van's voice told you that wasn't true. It wasn't as if you doubted his ability to woo, but it wasn't his dancing that was doing all the hard work. He knew you knew that, so he didn't argue the point. 

"I don't know how to dance 'proper' but I've gotten through life alright," you said with a shrug, picking up the empty bottle next to you and shaking it just to check. When you realised Van hadn't said anything in a couple of beats, you looked down. That fucking smirk. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Get up," he ordered, standing up himself and holding a hand out. 

"No. Why?" you replied, not moving at all. 

"Come on." 

Before you could protest, Van's hands were on you and he was pulling you off the counter. 

"What is happening? What are you doing?" 

"Teachin' ya how to dance. Obviously," he explained, his voice heavy with judgement. _Obviously._

You were too tired to fight him but too tired to dance. It was hard to figure out which one was weighing you down more. Like he could read that in you, Van said, "You don't have to do nothin'. Just… put ya hand here… and follow me." 

Van moved one of your hands to his shoulder. You rested your wrist there casually and let him tangle the fingers of your other hand between his. His free hand moved to pull you closer, then sit on your lower back. He could direct your movement, you figured, from there. 

"There's no music," you said. When your voice came out as a whisper, you tried to suck it back in and speak louder, but all you managed to do was punctuate your sentence with a small squeak. 

"Got me dancin', love… Need me singing too?" 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, you felt a wave of nervousness hit you. Scared Van would see it on your face, you stepped in closer to him and laid your head on his chest. He took the movement in his stride and continued to dance you gracefully around the kitchen in small steps. 

"You're not learnin' much if you're paying attention," Van told you, his voice lowered too. 

"Don't wanna learn," you mumbled into him, eyes closed, and quickly slipping into a waking dream. 

He nodded and held you to him tighter. 

Outside of the windowless kitchen, time began to speed up. The drunks in the house tossed and turned in their alcohol-induced comas. The sun thought she might be ready to wake up. Birds started to sing out to each other across roads and wires. And bus drivers and barista's cursed their alarm clocks, hitting snooze for the first of many times. 

Curiously, inside the small kitchen with uneven wooden floorboards and no windows and a tap that never got quite hot enough, time began to move more slowly. Your dance with Van lasted only a few minutes of silence. But you were lost in it for hours. Van was feeling the same, but for him it was days. 

"When you're ready, love," he whispered. "Reckon I saw some of that cookie dough roll stuff in the fridge." 

Van knew you ate raw cookie dough by the tube. He was scared the moment would break, and you'd turn it into a joke when it started to feel awkward. _Give her an out,_ he thought. Better to stop it, leaving it perfect, then fuck it up. 

"I'm not ready," you murmured. 

"Me either," Van replied too quietly for you to hear. He kissed the top of your head and continued his dance.


End file.
